Quintessence
by johnsarmylady
Summary: Sherlock is back, and his return has turned John's world on it's head. With John moving back into 221B, Sherlock wants to sure the doctor understands why the last two years had to happen, but he doesn't expect what happened next...A friends-to-lovers birthday gift for the talented BenAddiction. Rated M


**I while ago I asked BenAddiction for three words that she would like me to include in her birthday gift. She gave me the words Benediction, Jasper and Winter. So here it is BA - happy birthday. If you haven't yet read BenAddiction's stories - go now and read them...then pop back here and read her birthday gift :)  
>Disclaimer: I own only my original storyline :(<strong>

January, and the gaiety and glamour of Christmas had been put back in its box for another eleven months.

Another new year; only this one more than a little different from the previous two.

For a start, John was back in Baker Street, in the flat he had left six months after his best friend had fallen from grace, and then fallen from the roof of St Bartholomew's Hospital.

Then there was the question of said best friend who, it turned out, isn't dead at all – just faking – and all of a sudden the world tipped upside down.

A week ago John Watson had been contemplating moving in with Mary. She was a nice girl, fun to go out with, even visited Sherlock's grave with him, but he never actually got to the point of asking because somehow he knew he could never make a commitment of anything more than friendship.

Five days ago Sherlock Holmes, the once dead world's only consulting detective turned up on John's doorstep, cold, tired, and more dysphoric than John had ever seen him. Even during his worst lows he had never looked this bad.

Three days ago John had packed up his still meagre belongings, and with no little degree of trepidation moved back into 221B Baker Street, back into his old room.

The previous evening, as he finished closing the curtains against the dark **winter** evening he turned to find Sherlock standing in the middle of the room staring at him, the strangest expression on his face…

~O~

"What's wrong?" to his own ears John's voice sounded odd, and he cleared his throat.

Sherlock tipped his head to one side, birdlike, as his eyes moved over every inch of the blond doctor, drinking in the sight of him, reading everything that had happened while he had been away. John was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable when the soft rumble of that deep baritone filled his ears.

"I need to be sure that you understand why I did it."

They both knew what he meant by 'it', yet neither mentioned the words fall, or jump, when discussing Sherlock's time away.

John gazed at him through narrowed eyes.

"Yeah, lives were threatened – Mrs Hudson, Greg and me – you did explain."

"I…it's not just that…"

John drew himself up, pushing his shoulders back, military training in every inch of his slim, compact five feet seven frame.

"Don't." Sherlock whispered, misunderstanding the body language. "Don't be angry."

"Wait, what? I'm not angry Sherlock I'm…" he paused for a second, trying to find the right words. "I think I'm just preparing myself for another gargantuan revelation."

If anything Sherlock looked paler than normal, but to his credit he didn't move or look away, instead he seemed to steel himself and wait for permission to continue.

John nodded, and the younger man took a breath.

"I could have ignored it if Moriarty had just ordered the shooting of Lestrade…" his eyes never left John's face, taking in the shock his words had caused. "and if Mrs Hudson had become a casualty of this particular war I would have been saddened, but none the less I would have dealt with it."

The silence that followed that statement seemed to hang heavy in the room as John struggled to make sense of what he had just heard.

"What are you saying Sherlock? That you would have just let that happen?"

"No…I would have done my best to prevent it."

"So what was different, other than the fact that he threatened me as well? Why would that…" Suddenly the implications of his friend's words hit him.

Sherlock saw it, the moment the truth occurred to John, saw the flush creep up his neck and the way his eyes widened.

"It wasn't my intention to ever say anything to you, but Moriarty…" he spat the name as if it were poison, starting to pace up and down in the limited space between the fire and the couch. "…he knew; he knew from the start where my greatest weakness was, knew that by threatening you he was hurting me."

He took a step towards the doctor.

"Nothing needs to change John." There was desperation in his voice "We can get back to where we were before, friends, flatmates….."

"No."

"No?"

"Jesus Sherlock, you can't say something like that and then expect us to carry on as if nothing had happened." John rubbed his hand over his face and looked down at his feet. "How long?"

Sherlock knew exactly what his friend was asking, and knew that only honesty would do now.

"Since just after the circus – I realised I had wanted to be there with you alone, I didn't want you 'getting off' with Sarah."

"And so you sabotaged every relationship I tried to have."

"I couldn't help myself."

"And yet," John said quietly, "you were content to throw yourself from the roof of Bart's, make me watch you do it, and then leave me alone and grieving for two years while you travelled around the world."

Blowing out a breath the blond doctor shook his head and looked at thin man.

"Just answer me one question. What do you plan to do about it?"

This threw Sherlock. Until now he hadn't considered beyond making sure John was going to return to Baker Street to stay, hadn't originally intended to say anything about his motives for jumping, and certainly hadn't been prepared for the question he was now expected to answer.

Almost like a rabbit in the headlights, he stood and stared, his famous deductive powers deserting him in the face of those quiet words. And while he struggled to formulate an answer his friend spoke again, dealing him another stunning blow.

"Don't think that you can say something like that and then expect me to go back to how we were two years ago – there's no way I'm going to let you do that."

Closing the gap between them, John splayed a hand against Sherlock's chest, pushing him backwards from the living room and into the hall, inexorably moving towards the younger man's bedroom.

"You don't see it do you, have no idea despite the fact that it was right there, under your nose for the eighteen months we lived together." His voice was quiet yet brooked no interruption. "You haven't worked out why, in the two years you were gone, why I didn't find someone to love and who loved me, someone to live with…"

"Mary…."

"Is not part of this equation. She is a friend, nothing more."

By now they were stepping over the threshold of Sherlock's room, and John stopped only when the bed came in contact with the back of the younger man's legs, and he sat down very suddenly, looking up at the ex-soldier.

"You said you were flattered, but that you were married to your job. You shut me down that first night. Not once did you tell me you had changed your views, you let me believe we were nothing but friends." His hand had moved now, almost of its own volition, and tilted Sherlock's face up, his thumb stroking across the sharp cheekbone.

"For an intelligent man Sherlock, you really are an idiot."

In the light spilling in from the doorway Sherlock's eyes, usually a fusion of blue, green and grey, glowed pale green, like highly polished **jasper** in a smooth marble setting.

Dipping his head slowly, John held Sherlock's gaze, watching as the younger man's eyelids fluttered shut as their lips met. Sliding his hand round to cup the back of his head, he placed a knee on the bed flush against Sherlock's leg and eased the younger man back, the kiss unbroken until Sherlock gasped for air as his back hit the mattress.

Those green eyes opened once more and he stared up into the flushed face hovering above his, taking in the blown pupils, the way the tip of John's tongue flicked out almost nervously to lick his lips, and counting the beat of his pulse as it throbbed through the wrist that was pressed against the side of his head.

"That was unexpected." Was all he could think of to say, cursing himself inwardly as the words came out, but John just smiled.

"Was it alright?"

Sherlock smiled back, and nodded.

"You want more?"

Twisting his lower body slightly, Sherlocks answer was obvious as he pressed against John's leg, making the doctor's smile grow wider as he lowered himself down to lay snug beside the other man.

Leaning in for another kiss John made quick work of unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt, working down to the waistband of his trousers. His fingers slipping inside jolted the younger man into action, and he reached to undress the man lying beside him.

To start with, the only sounds to be heard in the darkened room were the slick wet sounds of sucking kisses, and the heavy breathing of two people eager to rid each other of the clothing that was coming between them.

When finally they were both naked Sherlock slid up the bed to rest his head on the pillows, and John struggled to draw breath as he looked down at the light and shade of the body before him, the quintessence of beauty, lying as an offering to him, for him to take and use and cherish, and he felt both humbled and honoured.

The darkness wrapped warmly around them, absorbing the gentle sounds that accompanied the first explorations of lovemaking, the soft murmurs that rose to a crescendo as John finally brought them together.

As each stroke sunk deeper, so Sherlock's eyes rolled back in his head and his lips formed John's name, over and over, like a prayer, a **benediction**, and as their climax whirled both men to the edge of oblivion he all but screamed the doctor's name, the echoes rebounding, fading, dying as John collapsed, spent, on top of him.

Later, as they lay under the duvet gently touching, exploring each other with less sexual imperative than curiosity, Sherlock dropped a kiss on John's temple.

"In my wildest dreams, and believe me while I was away I had many of those, I never dared to hope that this would happen." He smiled into John's soft sandy hair. "I thought maybe we could at least be friends, flatmates. And I hoped that would be enough…"

"Like I said, you're an idiot." John's lips brushed against the soft, pale chest. "Did you think that I would drop everything and agree to move back in less than a week after finding out that you actually hadn't died if there wasn't something else there? If you hadn't said anything I would have – eventually."

And in the silence that followed his little speech John smiled, happy in the knowledge that he had, for once, left his friend – now – lover speechless.


End file.
